was how her whole day had been going. He’d thwarted her chance to get live video of Camille Eckart and her baby. They’d been in hiding for the past six months at the ranch, where Camille’s ex had traced her and then been killed himself. It would have been one of Chelsea’s best segments yet for her weekly show, “Tattle Today TV.”
When Max pressed on the gas, she had an idea he was laughing at her. Worse, her ineffectual jerking motion had managed to strain the muscle in her upper arm and tear the stitching beneath the jacket sleeve of her new Balenciaga suit. This was the first time she’d worn the French blue two-piece linen outfit, classy yet light enough for the summer heat.
With so many injustices, she felt like howling. So far no tactic in her repertoire had duped that razor-sharp brain of his, which always appeared to be two steps ahead of her.
Be more creative, Chelsea. If you can get on his good side, he might return you in time to write a follow-up story for the seven o’clock show.
According to her watch it was ten after four, though the overcast sky made it seem much later in the day.
In a resigned tone, she said, “All right. You’ve made your point. Unlike you, who enjoys kidnapping defenseless women and destroying company property, I actually work for a living. If you would be so kind as to allow me to get back to my job, I’ll overlook this crime like I have your others and tell my boss not to press charges.”
He darted her what she thought at first was an amused glance. But his narrowed gaze held a certain glitter she found uncomfortable. The rumble of thunder in the distance added to her sense of unease.
Though she knew Max Jamison wasn’t anything like Anthony Dorset, one of her mother’s many live-in lovers, the hostile look in his eyes took her back to a time when, as a fifteen-year-old living in Hollywood, California, she had learned the meaning of terror.
Anthony, a muscular, out-of-work actor who displayed a controlling personality and cruel streak her mother chose to ignore, had moved into the mansion that was Chelsea’s home.
The leering looks he gave her were so indecent they made her skin crawl. Soon she was doing everything in her power to avoid him. But the more she tried to keep out of his way, the more he behaved like a guard dog, always lurking, always lying in wait for her to arrive home from school.
She didn’t want to think about those hellish years. They were long since behind her. She was a different person now. From the moment she’d gone to work in television journalism in the Los Angeles area until she’d carved out her career as a talk show host for “Tattle Today TV” in Austin, she made certain the men she met gave her a wide berth. But Max Jamison wasn’t intimidated by her. Worse, she resented him for reminding her of her nightmarish past.
Suddenly he made an unexpected turn onto an unfamiliar country road. Good! Her noncombative tone must have soothed the savage breast. It appeared he’d relented enough to circle and head back the way they’d come.
As she relaxed against the seat, she saw a run in her hose that hadn’t been there when she’d driven to the Lord ranch earlier. She hoped her assailant choked on the growing bill “Tattle Today TV” would present him for lost and damaged goods.
With fabricated nonchalance she crossed her left leg over her right to hide the run from view. If she smoked, this would have been the perfect moment to light up.
Not for the first time did Max notice those elegant legs out of his periphery, but right now he was still reacting to her implication that he had been let go from the police force.
Nothing could have been further from the truth!
He’d become a PI by choice, but he wasn’t about to explain his reasons for resigning from the police department in order to satisfy Chelsea Markum’s insatiable curiosity.
Before he’d taken on Maitland Maternity Clinic as a client, and found himself chasing Ms. Markum off the premises, the relentless reporter had caused Max grief on the Bobbie Stryder case, which was still pending with the courts. The woman’s mere presence spelled disaster.
Now that she was his captive audience, he could deliver the long-overdue lecture he’d been saving for a moment such as this.
“Are you aware that some of the good citizens of Austin call you the black widow of television?”
The bluntness of the message, delivered in his deep, compelling voice, caught Chelsea unaware.
She blinked. Black widow?
“There’s no question the female is one of the most beautiful spiders in existence. She performs her deadly work by making several punctures in her victims, then proceeds to suck out their lifeblood. She lets nothing stand in her way, not even her partner, whom she eats after they’ve mated.”
The unflattering analogy would have hurt at any time. To hear it from a man Chelsea couldn’t intimidate made it all the more devastating.
“No. I didn’t know that.” She stared straight ahead, dry-eyed. Another clap of thunder cannonaded across the rolling hills. “Thank you for letting me in on that fascinating piece of unsolicited information. I’ll file it away for future reference.
“In the meantime, if we want to reach the Lord ranch before the storm catches up to us, may I remind you we’re headed in the wrong direction? No one dislikes back-seat drivers more than I do, but in your righteous zeal to keep me apprised of public opinion, you seem to have forgotten our destination. Before this day is out, I still have a story to put together for my show.”
The truck continued to distance them from Austin. “Nothing fazes you, does it.”
She fought to get past the asperity of that remark. “A good journalist tries to deliver despite any obstacles.”
“You think that’s what you are? A good journalist?”
A tight band constricted her breathing. “My boss tells me my show has the highest ratings in Austin as well as many other parts of Texas. Can all of the people be fooled all of the time?”
“High ratings don’t necessarily have a hell of a lot to do with the kind of worthy reporting the majority of people are hungering for.”
“But are they?” Though deep inside she agreed with him—another reason for her perturbation—she enjoyed throwing out a challenge. No man of her acquaintance frustrated her quite the way he did. That was because she’d seen him in action as a cop and a PI. He was tough. If he had a vulnerable spot, she hadn’t found it yet.
“When you’re not busy abducting someone else, Mr. Jamison, I’ll be happy to show you the disparity in the ratings between the sensational coverage of Princess Diana’s death and the grassroots footage on that of Mother Teresa.”
She heard his sharp intake of breath and rejoiced. He’d had it all his way since he’d carried her off the ranch in that humiliating firefighter’s lift in front of an audience. No amount of twisting had effected her release.
“Having said that, you think it excuses you from blame?” Max bit the question out. “Do you have any idea the grief you’ve caused, not only to the Maitland family, but to countless other people in this town who shrink in fear when Chelsea Markum gets wind of a possible scandal?
“The voracious
